Living for It
by EddieKickAxe
Summary: A self-indulgent DMC1 one-shot about Dante's devil trigger, and cranky lightning swords. Enjoy.


Disclaimer: Capcom owns Devil May Cry. I don't own Capcom (yet).

Idk I just wanted to write about Dante's Devil Trigger? This is pointless I just wanted to try the bae's perspective

* * *

Ifrit's power engulfs the sorry excuse of a Phantom copycat, and you laugh like a man possessed.

You haven't felt this good, this _alive,_ since well, the last time the world was going to end. Back then, the raw power came as a shock to the system, and you were near drunk off it. So much so that while you taunted and danced and raced to the top of the tower, a small voice in the back of your brains wondered if you would come back the next time you let it submerge you. It wasn't so much a temptation as it was just a feeling of rightness, of tapping into something that was your goddamn birthright, and _owning it._ Your brother's words had suddenly made a lot more sense.

That was a long time ago. It was fresh enough in your mind to remember clearly the fear you felt with the first spark, and the entire city watching the tower with their breath held. It was old enough to no longer feel like taking a wood file to raw nerves when you remembered.

The present is an entirely different story. Here it's just you, your weapons, and the demonic inhabitants of Mallet Island. When you let go, it's not accompanied by the fear of the unknown. Only elation and freedom and God help you, the pure _pleasure_ of that much energy hitting you like a fastball to the right of the strike zone.

It used to scare you, how much you loved it.

Now you _live for it._

" _ **Master, please let me aid you in fighting the other."**_ Alastor crackles against your back, impatient and indignant as always. You've been relying on Ifrit more, relishing in the flaming dance you create together, as payback for that skewering Alastor gave you earlier.

You dispel Ifrit, the cold biting in the abrupt disappearance of engulfing hellfire. The second Kyklops is screaming by now, the shrieks cutting in and out as it shoves its maw into the earth, gathering rocks to fling at you. You wonder for a moment if you could bat them back with the broad side of Alastor.

A shock to the back of your neck is your answer. You glare at the dragon-shaped hilt over your shoulder, but it quickly turns into a smirk. This one's got some moxie! Rebellion's going to love him, you're sure of it. They've got the pride of a damn lion between the two of them.

The Kyklops is absolutely furious by now, as you have yet to remove yourself from your perch on its dead sibling's carcass. You pointedly ignore its lumbering approach, taking the time to stretch your arms before finally grasping Alastor. You let the spirit of the lightning demon flood you, his power resonating with your own. For a moment, that's all there is, and time stops as you breathe deeply, closing your eyes and just _feeling_. There's electricity running through your nerves, through your veins, through your gods damned _arteries,_ and it makes you shiver. Your back arches just slightly and you can feel your shoulder blades shifting, your focus honing in on the two points just below them where you can feel the ghost of your wings pressing against your skin, wanting to burst forth and stretch.

You'd do it, tap into your Trigger just enough to free them, but you know your eyes are probably glowing red beneath your eyelids and your fangs are poking at your lower lip and you don't want to pick up on the habit because Lady _hates_ it when you do that, doesn't like how you look possessed so it's "all or nothing" when she's around, and—

You leap up in the air to avoid a boulder taking you into next week, the Kyklops screaming as you land on the ground unscathed. You flourish Alastor, taunting the giant rock spider, and the sword crackles with anticipation.

Needy, needy bastard.

"If you play nice, I'll let you jump my car later," you joke. You hear something that sounds like a sigh from your new Devil Arm.

" _ **Your will is mine, Master."**_

Now that gets a solid laugh out of you, loud and harsh and thrilling. It takes a moment, but Alastor seems to have understood that you were kidding when you feel his being fill you a few volts more.

You throw back your right elbow, lining up a Stinger with big ugly's face. You've been ignoring them for far too long, time to give them a dance they won't forget.

"Let's rock, baby!" you shout, launching yourself forward with inhuman speed.

This is what you live for.


End file.
